


Deliver One Of My Demands

by RedTeamShark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Breathplay, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Communication, Daddy Kink (Brief), Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RACK - Freeform, Rough Sex, SSC, Under-negotiated Kink, traffic light safeword system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: "Choke me, daddy," Clint whispers and Bucky's entire body freezes.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 11
Kudos: 89
Collections: After Dark Presents Nutvember 2020





	Deliver One Of My Demands

**Author's Note:**

> Title Inspo: “Breath Control” by Recoil
> 
> Welcome to Nutvember, where we write smut instead of suffering through nano.

Maybe he's just unusually susceptible to conditioning. He did spend seventy-ish years being brainwashed into killing, after all.

At least Clint doesn't use his power over Bucky for evil.

The archer stretches his arms over his head, body twisting until his back cracks, the hem of his shirt riding up to expose a scant inch of his toned stomach and Bucky hyperfocuses on that strip of tanned skin, his pupils already dilating. He shoots a glance to Clint's face, sees his smirk, his raised eyebrow, and the mild tilt of his head, and it's not even subtle when he walks away and Bucky follows.

Conditioning. Stimulus, response. Clint's body is the stimulus, and the low pulse of arousal in his stomach is an immediate response.

They fall into bed together between breathless kisses, strip each other with a fervor usually reserved for much younger lovers. Bucky grabs Clint's hips, hikes him up so long legs can wrap around his waist. "You need prep," he gasps out when he manages to free his mouth from the other man's persistent tongue.

"Nah. Just lube up."

"Clint--"

"I like pain. We talked about this, Bucky." His hips lift, ass wiggling temptingly against Bucky. "Now get down here and kiss me again."

Well, he's always been good at following orders.

Bucky's spent too long making sure he's not a monster, so he waits once he's inside Clint, focuses on kissing him, leaving dark hickeys on his neck and collar bones. Slips his right hand from Clint's hip to his thigh to his cock and strokes, slow but firm. He waits until Clint starts making needy, impatient noises, until his hips start rocking against Bucky's, and only then does he let himself move.

The split in focus between Clint's pleasure and his own is almost enough to overtake everything, but Bucky is still aware of his hands, especially his left. He's careful not to squeeze too hard, not to leave bruises or broken skin. Clint might like pain and Bucky might like leaving marks, but the thought of him covered in bruises from Bucky's carelessness is beyond horrifying. He pushes in deep, rocks his hips and twists his wrist as his hand strokes up Clint's cock.

"Fuck," Clint gasps out, his hands tangling into Bucky's hair, pulling hard. " _Fuck_ ," he says again, and his cock twitches in Bucky's hold. "Right there, Bucky, yeah--"

"Right here?" he asks, teasing, drawing back slowly and pushing in again. His hips rock and Clint's legs spasm around his waist, one heel kicking into his back on reflex.

One of Clint's hands leaves his hair and Bucky sits up a little, watches the other man's face. He's flushed and beautiful, eyes glassy, lips red and kiss-swollen. His gaze flicks down and Bucky knows that order without words, his hips picking up pace again. He's getting close and the way Clint's twitching in his hand and clenching around him, he's not alone.

Fingers wrap around his metal wrist and Bucky lets his arm be led, mind on pleasure, on chasing his orgasm. His hand opens, fingers ready to grasp Clint's hair and pull--gently, of course--ready to introduce a little pain to the man's pleasure.

He does not expect his hand to press against Clint's throat, and he _definitely_ doesn't expect the words.

"Choke me, daddy," Clint whispers and Bucky's entire body freezes.

* * *

He doesn’t open his eyes at first. Bucky knows he’s lost time, knows he freaked out about _something_ , but he doesn’t want to see how bad it is.

Instead he focuses internally, counts every inch of his body from bottom to top, inside to out. He’s not hurt anywhere, but he’s cold. There’s soft carpet against his bare ass and the bottoms of his bare feet, smooth wall against his bare shoulders. His left arm is held in against his chest, fist clenched, and his right arm is wrapped around his bent knees. He’s got his head down, hair hanging in his face.

His breathing is surprisingly steady and after a moment of listening, he realizes that it’s because there’s someone else in the room, someone breathing deep and calm for him to sync up with.

Bucky opens one eye and spots Clint, just beyond arm’s reach away, sitting on the floor in only boxers ( _those are mine_ , he realizes slowly) and playing on his phone. He works his lip, before tilting his head up slightly, starting to reach out with his left hand.

_Fingers wrapped around Clint’s throat. “Choke me, daddy.”_

Bucky yanks his hand back and shifts a little closer, reaching out with his right. “Hey…”

“Hey.” Clint looks up and puts his phone onto the bedside table, gives him a beaming smile. “Welcome back.”

“How long was I…”

“About twenty minutes.” Clint lets Bucky touch his knee, leans in a little closer. “I didn’t want to touch you.”

“Thanks.” His fingers stroke against his boyfriend’s skin, slow and gentle. “Sorry, I--we were having sex, huh? And I freaked out?”

“Hey, no, no,” Clint shushes him softly, carefully putting his hand over Bucky’s, linking their fingers together. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one that fucked up.” He looks down at their hands, before very gently lifting Bucky’s fingers to his mouth and kissing them.

“What? How?” He’s not _completely_ ignorant, he knows that there are things in their sex life that other people don’t have. Things that borrow from kink communities, like safe words and the feeling he gets low in his gut when Clint starts getting bossy. But Bucky has no idea how Clint could have messed up the amazing sex they were having when _he’s_ the one that freaked out.

“Broke one of the kink rules, brought something new in without negotiating it first. Heat of the moment got to me.” Clint’s cheeks are miserably red, his hand squeezing Bucky’s methodically. “Shoulda kept my mouth shut.”

Bucky’s brain is still sort of soup, he can _feel_ how slow on the uptake he’s being right now. “Wait… that’s a _kink_ thing?”

The archer’s eyes snap up to him. “Don’t kinkshame me, Sergeant Orgasm Denial. Yes, it’s a kink thing.”

He shouldn’t laugh, he really tries not to. Bucky presses his metal hand over his mouth, but he’s sure Clint can see the humor in his eyes. “ _How_?” he spits out, incredulous. “How is choking someone sexy?”

“Maybe I should show you.” Clint edges towards him, getting up on his knees. He doesn’t block Bucky into the wall, leaves plenty of room for him to get out, and his fingers laced with Bucky’s stay gentle. “It’s a head rush, you hold the sides of the neck and the blood flow gets cut off and everything is… amplified. Then when you let go, it’s such a release… Mindblowing, really.”

“I’m sure.” Bucky gets up onto his knees as well, leans in and kisses Clint gently. “So how do you know when to let go?”

“Counting, mostly. You hold for five seconds… maybe ten…” Clint’s free hand touches his chest, slowly slides up to his collar. He ghosts his fingers against Bucky’s throat, grinning wickedly when the brunet swallows. “And of course, the person being choked can still say a safe word if they need to. Or tap out.”

“Tap out…” Bucky repeats, feeling warm and hazy, his eyes locked on Clint’s face. He’s not hard again, not yet, but there’s the low fire of arousal in his belly, reignited from the ashes of his freak out. “Just like sparring.”

“Just like sparring.” Clint fits his hand around Bucky’s throat, though he doesn’t squeeze. His thumb rests against one side of his neck, fingers on the other. Bucky’s sure the other man can feel his pulse racing. “Talk to me, Bucky. Does any of this sound even a little appealing?”

The archer has a goddamn way with words, if nothing else. Bucky nods shallowly, licking his lips and trying to find the words to answer him. An hour ago he didn’t know this was a thing at all and thirty minutes ago he didn’t know it was a kink that Clint apparently has. He definitely needs more time to process it, but he likes the feeling of Clint’s hand against his throat, the control over him it gives the other man. That feeling is familiar, it's the same as the one that starts in his gut and curls up into his chest when Clint starts telling him what to do. “Yeah, it sounds appealing,” Bucky admits after a few seconds of silence. “It’s… you know when you tell me what to do, and my head gets all… fuzzy in a good way?”

“Subspace, yeah. It reminds you of that?”

“This does.” He gestures with his metal hand, to Clint’s fingers at his throat. “I think I understand this. But Clint…” Bucky forces himself to move back, to get free from Clint’s hand on his neck. He squeezes their linked fingers instead. “I don’t want to _hurt_ you.”

“You won’t.” The easy confidence is infuriating. Bucky pulls his right hand free, bracing himself on the wall to stand up. He feels a little ridiculous having this conversation while kneeling naked on the ground.

And he needs some time to make sure his words are right, if he’s being honest. He moves forward and Clint steps aside, lets him find his clothes on the ground. Bucky pulls on his pants without bothering to get his boxers back, looking around for his shirt. “How can you say that?”

“Because I know you.”

“You’ve seen what _this_ ,” he shakes his left arm, “can do.”

Clint shrugs, languid, grabbing Bucky’s shirt from under the bed and passing it over to him. “And I’ve experienced first hand how careful you are about what it can do.”

“You’re only human, Clint.”

“So are you.” The words are quiet, so quiet he probably wasn’t supposed to hear them. Bucky breathes in and out slowly, taking the time to think while he puts his shirt on.

When he looks up again, Clint is standing by the bed, his face open and calm. Bucky sits down heavily, brushing his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Slowly, Clint sits down next to him, placing a hand on his knee. “Hey.” His other hand comes up, gently tilts Bucky’s chin towards him until he can seal their lips together. When Clint pulls back, he’s still got the open and calm expression. “I’m not asking you for a yes _or_ a no right now. It’s a lot to dump on someone and I did it in a bad way to begin with. But… it’s out there. I trust you, Bucky. I know that you won’t hurt me in any way I don’t like. If you want to try this--or if you want me to try it on you, so you can see how it feels--you just have to say so. And if you don’t want to try it, that’s fine too. That’s the last I’ll say, unless you have questions, until you tell me otherwise.” Clint smiles, kisses the corner of his mouth gently. “Fair?”

“Fair,” Bucky agrees after a moment, settling his hand over Clint’s and squeezing. “You wanna put pants on and go find some dinner?”

“No, but yes.” He grins, and it’s easy from there. Thoughts are still swirling in Bucky’s head, but he has time to puzzle them out. No pressure. No worries.

Clint really doesn’t use his power over Bucky for evil.

* * *

He lands himself on a judo website, rather than a kink one, but it’s mostly the same information. Bucky wraps his hand around his own throat, late at night and alone in his room, and squeezes until he’s light-headed. 

He flexes his metal hand, looking at each articulated joint, making himself _feel_ each moving part. When he’s aware of every little twitch and shift, he squeezes an apple.

It bursts in his hand and Bucky lets out a little wheezing scream.

Okay, so he’s definitely _not_ using that hand.

“What’s the difference between SSC and RACK?” he asks Clint one afternoon, laying in bed with him and tracing a fingertip over his boyfriend’s chest. They’re both naked and sweaty, sated from a good fuck that didn’t involve any choking. It seems like a good time to ask.

“Mm… SSC stands for safe, sane, and consensual. Basically, it’s making sure that all parties involved are agreeing to something that won’t cause harm, physical or mental, to any of them. RACK is risk aware consensual kink. Similar deal, but everyone knows that there could be some physical or mental--usually physical--harm. Spanking with a bare hand versus spanking with a cane sort of thing. A bare hand is gonna sting but probably won’t leave bruises. A cane is going to leave its share of marks.” Clint smiles, kisses the top of his head gently. “Doing your research?”

“It’s called breath play, right? ‘Cause I googled ‘choking kink’ and um. Wow.”

Clint laughs, his body shaking under Bucky’s head for a moment. “Hot?”

“Lots of text articles about how dangerous it is, actually.” He shrugs, sliding his right hand up and brushing his fingers against Clint’s throat. “Like, all of them basically say that there’s no _safe_ way to do it.”

“There’s no safe way to do a lot of stuff we do. I jumped off a building, shot a grappling hook arrow up as I was falling, and used the line to swing through a glass window like yesterday.” And he’s got the bandages on to prove it, Bucky notes, propping himself up and off of Clint’s ribs. He claims they’re not bruised, but he’s been known to lie about injuries. “It doesn’t have to be crushing someone’s windpipe. Just squeeze the sides of the neck a little bit, for a few seconds.”

“Yeah, about that… I tried to test it out with my left hand and an apple.”

“How’d it go?”

“Made juice. Had to get my arm washed out. Tony asked too many questions.” Bucky huffs, dropping onto his back and slowly pulling Clint on top of him. “So I’m not using that one to choke you...”

Clint kisses his chin, grinning deviously. “But you’ll use the other hand?”

He hadn’t meant to imply he would, but… well, he’s still _thinking_ about it. Still trying to wrap his head around how it feels good to have circulation to the brain cut off. “ _Maybe_.”

The grin grows, but he doesn’t push further. Instead he wraps his arms around Bucky’s torso, tangling their legs together. “Any other questions, or can I take a nap?”

“It’s the middle of the day, don’t take a damn nap.”

“Building, grappling hook, window. Literally yesterday. I’ve earned a nap.” Clint closes his eyes defiantly, faking a snore. “Also I’ve got a comfy-ass body pillow to snuggle with.”

“And I’ve got a sparring session with Steve in…” Bucky cranes his neck to look at his clock. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Too bad you’re busy being my comfy-ass body pillow and can’t go.”

He sighs, but his arms wrap around the archer anyways. Steve will get over it. “You’re a pain in my ass, Barton.”

“Nah, I’m not that rough. Now shh, nap time.”

* * *

He can’t get it out of his head. His own hand at his throat doesn’t do much, but Bucky keeps remembering that first conversation. Clint’s fingers and thumb on either side of his neck. Clint’s palm against his adam’s apple. Able to feel every twitch and swallow, able to feel his racing pulse. Clint’s face so close to his, calm and open and warm, taking him in and taking him apart. 

“I want you to try it on me,” Bucky declares, out of the blue when they’re getting ready for bed one night.

Clint blinks at him in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush still in his slack mouth. “Huh?”

He squares his shoulders and stands up a little straighter, because he survived years of hell as a brainwashed assassin, he can survive telling his boyfriend that he wants to get choked during sex. “The…” Bucky’s confidence deflates like a slashed tire. “You know. The thing.” He gestures at his throat.

Clint goes back to brushing his teeth, spits and rinses his mouth out. He turns around, leaning on the sink and looking Bucky up and down. Slow, hungry, predatory, but assessing. “Use your words.”

It’s _that_ tone of voice, the one that makes his mind fuzzy in the best way, the one that would have him crawl across hot coals if Clint asked it of him. “I want you to choke me,” Bucky says, his words a hoarse whisper. He licks his lips, clears his throat and tries again. “I wanna try being choked, before I try doing it.”

Clint walks up to him slowly, leans in and kisses him until Bucky is practically liquid. His eyes stay open, stormy gray locked on icy blue, holding Bucky’s attention completely. “And what do you want to do while I choke you?” Clint asks, his hand coming up, curling around the back of Bucky’s neck and pulling him in closer.

“A-anything you want me to… please…”

“Hmm…” Clint cocks his head, glancing at the bed. “Get undressed and lie down on your back.”

He’s so quick to comply he almost tears the seams out of his pants. Bucky lies down, watching as Clint saunters towards him. His chest is rising and falling quickly, his whole body trembling with adrenaline that can’t go anywhere.

“Easy… easy…” Clint murmurs, crawling into bed with him. He strokes his hands up Bucky’s sides, calming the twitching muscles under his skin. “Do you want to use the traffic lights tonight, or a safe word?”

“Traffic lights. Green means I’m okay, yellow means I need a break, and red means I need to stop.” Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deeper and making himself relax. The mattress dips as Clint climbs over him, straddling his waist. “Clint, please…”

“Soon, Bucky. Promise. A few more things to cover, first. Open your eyes, baby, look at me.”

He looks and god, how did he get so lucky? Clint is miles of naked, tanned skin, compact muscle underneath. He’s got cuts and scrapes and bandages and scars, and every last inch of him is beautiful. “Aw, thanks.”

Bucky blinks, realizes he’d spoken aloud, but doesn’t try to take it back. He reaches up slowly, slides his hands up Clint’s thighs to his hips. “What else do we have to talk about?”

“I’m going to choke you a little bit, see if you like it. If you don’t, you’re gonna call a red. Right?” Bucky nods, so Clint continues. “And if you can’t talk, how are you going to let me know to stop?”

He thinks about it, fingers flexing against Clint’s hips. Obviously, Bucky can physically stop him if he needs to, but he wouldn’t dare. Clint’s only human. “Like this,” he decides, tapping his right hand against Clint’s hip. Three of his fingers, then just his index finger, then three of his fingers three times. Simple morse code for N-O.

Clint closes his eyes, nodding. “Got it.” He looks down at Bucky again, trailing his hands slowly up his chest. “Now the real important question… How do you want me to get you off?”

Bucky startles, he’d almost forgotten that was even part of it. He considers that for much less time than the nonverbal stopping cue, his hips rocking up. “How about you ride me?”

“Mm… was hoping you’d say that.” Clint slides back a little, his ass pressing to Bucky’s thighs briefly. “You wanna prep me?”

Like he’s going to pass up that opportunity. They switch positions, Clint face down and ass up, Bucky kneeling behind him. He lubes up his fingers, adding a generous amount to Clint’s hole before working one in.

“Don’t get me off, just get me… mmm… loosened up…” Clint instructs, stopping in the middle to groan as Bucky adds a second finger.

“Bossy,” he huffs out, scissoring his fingers apart slowly, pumping them in and out.

“You like it.” Clint grips the sheets and gasps as Bucky’s fingers curl, his hips rocking forward. “ _Fuck_ I said _don’t_ get me off.”

“My bad, guess I just can’t seem to miss.” Bucky snickers, leaning down and kissing the back of Clint’s thigh gently, taking mercy on his prostate in favor of stretching him. He pulls his fingers free after a few minutes, sitting back against the pillows again and stroking his cock slowly, slicking himself up. “C’mere, then.”

Clint climbs into his lap, lowers down and Bucky guides himself in. They both groan, bodies rocking together out of habit more than anything. Clint’s cock rubs against his lower belly, hard and leaking, and Bucky wraps his hand around it gently.

“Shit, fuck, don’t--” Clint swats him away, breathing heavily. “God fucking--just a second…” He takes in a few rough inhales, his hands bracing against Bucky’s chest, before Clint leans in and kisses him. “Lie down, it’s easier.”

Bucky slides them both a little ways down the bed, lies down on his back and settles his hands at Clint’s hips. He swallows his nerves as one of the archer’s hands presses against his throat, tilting his head back to bear his neck.

“How you feeling, Bucky?” Clint asks softly, no pressure from his hand yet.

“Good. I’m green. But hell, you feel _amazing_ on me like this.”

“Try to keep it together for a little while, yeah?” Clint might be talking to himself, honestly. He’s flushed and sweaty, looks blissed out already. “I’m gonna squeeze now, just for five seconds so you can get a feel for it. Ready?”

“Ready,” Bucky whispers, and the word is barely out of his mouth before Clint’s hand squeezes on either side of his neck. His eyes go wide for a moment, hands spasming against the other man’s hips, and Clint’s ass squeezes around him and--

And it’s over, Bucky’s breathing hard, but his eyes are locked on Clint’s face, on the concern there. “Green,” he gasps out before the blond above him can ask. “Do it again. Longer.”

“Ten seconds,” Clint warns, waiting another heartbeat before squeezing down.

He keeps going, squeeze and release, pauses to let Bucky desperately fuck up into him between each one. By the fifth or sixth time, Bucky is light headed and not sure if it’s from the building orgasm or the oxygen deprivation to his brain. Maybe both.

“You close?” Clint asks, his left hand at Bucky’s throat, right hand wrapped around his own cock. Bucky nods, too breathless for words, and Clint squeezes down on his throat for a moment. “I’m gonna squeeze and not let go until you’re coming, okay?”

Oh, fuck, that could be--Bucky feels himself nod against Clint’s hand, his eyes already rolling back in anticipation. 

The dizzy feeling grows and grows and _grows_ and Bucky knows that he _can_ breathe, that nothing is constricting his airway, but suddenly he _can’t_ , suddenly every frantic inhale is getting him nothing and his hands spasm against Clint’s hips, his cock twitching inside the other man. Clint’s moaning above him, warmth paints across his belly and Bucky isn’t sure if he’s coming or dying but they both feel so _good_ \--

The rush as blood flow returns to his brain makes the orgasm that much better, that much more intense, and he’s suddenly glad he doesn’t have the breath to scream, because if he did he’d wake the neighborhood yelling Clint’s name. There’s tears on his face and Bucky doesn’t care, he’s glimpsed heaven and all the angels look just like Clint, now, in this moment, sweaty and flushed and lost in his own bliss, roughly jerking his cock while Bucky fills him.

He must be talking out loud again, babbling incoherent things, because Clint falls against him and laughs, kisses him and holds him close and shushes him until Bucky’s brain reconnects with his present reality, leaves behind the glimpse of heaven he’d gotten.

“Holy fuck that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my _life_ I love you fuck Clint do that every day--” Bucky tries to get his loose tongue to stop, tries to distract his running mouth with peppering kisses against Clint’s jaw and neck instead. 

“My turn next?” Clint asks, tone light, one eyebrow cocked up. Bucky steals another kiss, biting down on his lip gently.

“Your turn next,” he agrees, his right hand snaking up, fingers pressing to either side of Clint’s throat. He doesn’t squeeze down, but he still feels the man’s spent cock twitch against his belly, still sees the way Clint’s eyes roll back.

The hesitation, the fear, is gone. At least in this moment, Bucky promises himself to give Clint exactly what he wants. Anything he wants.

* * *

It’s easy to make the promise in the moment. And two days later, when he’s down on his knees for Clint, feeling fingers thread into his hair and tug while he works his tongue, Bucky knows how easy it will be to fall into the moment again. Surrender his control, surrender himself. To let his thoughts go fuzzy and his body do only what he’s told. 

Except then he thinks of the apple exploding in his hand, and he chokes a little, and Clint pulls him back, looks down with concern.

Bucky rests his forehead on Clint’s hip bone, right hand sliding up his leg, fingers curling around his thigh. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

Clint shrugs, Bucky can feel the way his whole body shifts with it. “Sure I can. You haven’t ever hurt me so far. Bucky,” and Clint tugs his hair, gets him to tip his head back up, “I _trust_ you. Trust yourself, too, okay?”

There’s no storm in those eyes today, no lust-blown pupils, no teasing glint of command. There’s only an openness and a warmth that wraps around him, seeps into him and thaws the ice he tries to keep around his heart.

“Would you be able to stop me?”

“Yeah, if I had to. I’d say _red_ or give you this,” his fingers tap on Bucky’s shoulder, three-one-three-three-three, “and you’d stop.”

God damn, this gorgeous man is frustrating. How the hell can he say that with so much confidence? He _knows_ what Bucky’s done! 

_Trust yourself_. Easy words for Clint to say, easy orders to give (even if they’re not really orders, not in the way--nope, he’s shutting those thoughts down right the fuck now), but how is Bucky supposed to follow them? How is he supposed to trust himself if he gets lost in the moment?

An idea strikes him, brilliant in its simplicity. Just because they’d been fucking when Clint introduced it, just because they’d been fucking when he let Clint do it to him, doesn’t mean they _have to_ be fucking when he tries it. He’s an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

Bucky turns slightly, presses a gentle kiss against Clint’s hip bone and darts his eyes to the bed. “Go lie down. On your back.”

“Ooh, someone’s getting dominant.” Clint strokes a hand along his jaw before moving to the bed, doing as he’s told. He settles in, arms tucked behind his head, eyes on Bucky. “Anything else you want me to do?”

“Traffic lights, yeah?” Bucky takes a minute, articulates his left hand slowly, feels every flex and twitch and shift of the metal.

“Traffic lights,” Clint agrees, reciting them. His arms stretch up, muscles flexing as he grasps the headboard. “And if I can’t talk, I’ll give you N-O in morse.”

“Good. I’m not gonna fuck you while I do this.” Bucky looks over to see his reaction, but Clint only nods. “I’ll jerk you off, though.”

“However you’re comfortable, Bucky.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, traces his right hand over Clint’s thigh, past his erection and along his hip. Keeps going up, feeling the muscles of his stomach twitch under the feather-light touch, feeling his chest rise and fall with quickening breathing. Bucky runs his hand over Clint’s neck, leaning in and kissing him. “I can’t choke you with my left hand.”

“That’s okay.” Clint leans up before he can pull away, kisses him again. “You don’t have to do this at all if you don’t really want to. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable just to make me happy.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a week and the other night was amazing. I’m pretty sure I want to try this.” He fits his palm against Clint’s throat, thumb on one pulse point and fingers on the other. He can feel when the other man swallows, can feel how fast his heart is racing. Bucky squeezes experimentally, only for a second, but Clint’s reaction is immediate: his head tips back slightly, his lips part, and his eyes slip shut. A small, breathy moan escapes him.

Bucky moves on top of him and one of Clint’s hands drifts down from the headboard, rests on his thigh. He squeezes briefly, taps his fingers there in a rapid pattern. _Y-E-S_.

“Speechless already?” Bucky asks softly, his left hand wrapping gingerly around Clint’s hard dick. “Use your words for me. How was that?”

“Good. Very good. You don’t squeeze too hard. Just remember not to go for more than--” Clint cuts himself off, moaning louder as Bucky strokes him. “M-more than fifteen seconds.”

It takes a lot longer than that to cause brain damage and they both know it. And while Bucky was beyond the ability to count while Clint was choking him, he’s sure that the intervals of squeezing were longer than fifteen seconds. So it’s an order meant to help him keep control. Keep count.

“Think you can keep your eyes open while I do this?” he asks softly, and Clint’s eyelids drift up, his gaze finding Bucky’s face. “Wanna watch them roll back, it’s hot.”

“Can try.”

Bucky strokes him, slow and easy, and Clint’s face slowly flushes red with growing arousal. His cock throbs in Bucky’s hand, warm skin against cool metal. Slowly, his right hand starts applying pressure again.

Under him, Clint goes slack, almost boneless, his breathing fast and shallow. His hips twitch up under Bucky’s thighs, his hand squeezing but not tapping. He’s clearly fighting to keep his eyes open, blinking rapidly, and as soon as they close, Bucky lets go. Five seconds. His left hand keeps stroking. Clint licks his lips, swallows against his palm, and inhales deeply, mouth parting to speak.

“Gr--”

Bucky squeezes again.

His whole body spasms, nails digging into Bucky’s thigh for a moment, his eyes wide and vacant. His cock is throbbing, precome dripping from the tip, slicking the way for Bucky’s metal hand to stroke him. He swirls his thumb as he reaches the apex, holds for five, six, seven, eight seconds on Clint’s throat, and then lets go.

Clint’s inhale is ragged, his exhale forceful, almost a cough. “Fuck,” he whispers, eyes locked on Bucky’s face. “Again.”

“Bossy.” Bucky leans down, bends himself almost in half to steal a kiss from bitten red lips, and he squeezes again with his mouth over Clint’s. Strokes faster, turns his wrist, lets his own erection slide against the smooth muscle of Clint’s thigh. He holds for the entire fifteen seconds he’s allowed, mouth sealed over the archer’s until his hand releases.

He sits up again, strokes slower and gentler, moves his hand off Clint’s neck to brush his hair off his sweaty forehead. He fits his hand around Clint’s throat again, taps his fingers there lightly. “You close?”

“Mmhmm…” Clint’s eyes have closed, but he opens them again with visible effort. “Keep going until I come. Even if it’s more than fifteen seconds.” His hips rock up and Bucky presses him down with his body weight. “Don’t think it’s gonna be.”

 _Trust yourself_. Bucky strokes him faster, aware of the way Clint’s body seizes up, starts to tremble. He’s right on the precipice, it won’t be fifteen seconds and they both know it. He squeezes down on Clint’s throat again, feels the rapid pulse under his fingers, struggling to get blood to the man’s brain. Clint’s whole body jerks and thrashes and Bucky squeezes harder with his right hand, strokes faster with his left.

He lets go as soon as the first spurt of warm semen leaves Clint’s cock, feels and hears him suck in desperate breaths. Bucky keeps stroking until Clint is spent and twitching, until his gasps for air start turning into whimpers and whines of overstimulation. Slowly, he eases off him, lying down and pressing kisses against his reddened throat.

“God damn… that was…” Clint laughs a little, his head tipping back, the column of his throat exposed to Bucky’s persistent lips. “Amazing.”

He lets Clint bask in it, his own throbbing erection neglected, until the other man seems to regain some sense. Bucky kisses him, slow and gentle, letting out a little moan as Clint’s hand travels down his body. He’s quick to get off, not quite ready to acknowledge how hot it got him to be the one doing the choking. Bucky’s hips jerk into Clint’s hand, his own orgasm adding to the mess between them in less than a minute.

“Fourteen seconds,” Bucky murmurs as Clint curls against his left side, arm wrapping around the archer’s shoulders. 

“At the end there?” Clint places sleepy kisses against his chest, lips ghosting over his nipple as he speaks. “Damn. I was hoping for longer.”

“I see why you like it. Dunno if I’ll ever do it with this one, though.” He rubs Clint’s arm with his left hand, eyes slipping closed. “Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“That first night you mentioned it… There was something else you said.”

Clint hums, noncommittal. “There was?”

“Yeah. You said ‘choke me, daddy.’ That one of your kinks, too?”

He tightens his arm a little so Clint can’t get away when he tries to sit up, fights down his grin as the man sputters and spits trying to explain. Bucky reaches up with his right hand, catches Clint’s chin and pulls him into a slow, easy kiss. “I guess you _do_ like being a good boy, huh?”

The archer melts against him, his face going soft and sweet, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he kisses Bucky again. “We can talk about me calling you _daddy_ later, okay?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

Stimulus, response. Clint’s happiness is the stimulus, and the warmth that fills Bucky’s heart is the very welcome response. He might be susceptible to conditioning, but Bucky’s pretty sure this is just love.


End file.
